self-same spot
A crowd of vet'rans talking.
They shook their trembling heads and gray
With pride and noiseless laughter;
When, well-a-day! they blew away,
And ne'er were heard of after!

Helen Gray Cone.

The Flax Flower

Oh, the little flax flower!
It groweth on the hill,
And, be the breeze awake or 'sleep
It never standeth still.
It groweth, and it groweth fast;
One day it is a seed
And then a little grassy blade
Scarce better than a weed.
But then out comes the flax flower
As blue as is the sky;
And "'Tis a dainty little thing,"
We say as we go by.

Ah! 'tis a goodly little thing,
It groweth for the poor,
And many a peasant blesseth it
Beside his cottage door.
He thinketh how those slender stems
That shimmer in the sun
Are rich for him in web and woof
And shortly shall be spun.
He thinketh how those tender flowers
Of seed will yield him store,
And sees in thought his next year's crop
Blue shining round his door.

Oh, the little flax flower!
The mother then says she,
"Go, pull the thyme, the heath, the fern,
But let the flax flower be!
It groweth for the children's sake,
It groweth for our own;
There are flowers enough upon the hill,
But leave the flax alone!
The farmer hath his fields of wheat,
Much cometh to his share;
We have this little plot of flax
That we have tilled with care."

Oh, the goodly flax flower!
It groweth on the hill,
And, be the breeze awake or 'sleep,
It never standeth still.
It seemeth all astir with life
As if it loved to thrive,
As if it had a merry heart
Within its stem alive.
Then fair befall the flax-field,
And may the kindly showers
Give strength unto its shining stem,
Give seed unto its flowers!

Mary Howitt.

_Dear Little Violets_

Under the green hedges after the snow,
There do the dear little violets grow,
Hiding their modest and beautiful heads
Under the hawthorn in soft mossy beds.

Sweet as the roses, and blue as the sky,